I figured that there would be a lot of medication involved with cancer treatment. I just didn’t realize it would be THIS much.
I am not a big pill-taker. Besides vitamins here and there, the only thing I’d taken with any frequency had been ibuprofin, and that was only for menstrual cramps and knee pain. But then came breast cancer.
First there was Xanax, so that anxiety from my diagnosis wouldn’t cause me to lose too much weight before starting chemo. Then there were meds post-surgery: I took half a pill of generic Vicodin before switching to ibuprofin, fearful of taking anything for too long. But with chemo, I needed steroids for before/during/after to get me through the infusion’s worst effects. Then there was the chemo itself, and additional IV drugs to prevent an immediate reaction. The day after each infusion, I went in for an injection (Neulasta) to help bring my white blood cell count back up.
There were drugs to help deal with side effects. And then other drugs to handle the side effects of those drugs. I had more pills with my name on it than I’d ever had in my life. It was terrifying to me. I’d gone from being a remarkably healthy 50-something to (what felt to me like) a seriously ill patient with a life threatening disease.
In all honesty, most of these drugs I didn’t even take. While I did need the Xanax, I worked hard to reduced the dose until I parted with it completely. In its place, I meditated. After the first infusion and some unfortunate confusion regarding which anti-nausea pill to take first, resulting in one of the roughest nights of my life, I switched to CBD (cannabidiol) oil to prevent vomiting. Initially this required experimentation, as research in the area is relatively young due to an evolving legal landscape, resulting in lack of reliable dosing guidelines. But once I got that down, CBD eliminated the need for a myriad other medications because it didn’t have side effects.
Even the Claritin, which I was told to take for bone pain commonly associated with the Neulasta shots, was unnecessary. I took it for a while until I realized that I wasn’t experiencing significant pain and could do without it.
Limiting medications that weren’t completely necessary didn’t have negative physical effects and, even better, benefited me psychologically. I was constantly striving for normality, and that doesn’t come easily with cancer treatment. Pill-popping was an unfamiliar concept for me, so getting back to where I felt comfortable, taking as few medications as I could safely tolerate, was critical.
Unfortunately, I’m not quite done yet. The toughest part is over, but the last chapter of my pill-taking experience includes a decade of the estradiol-blocking drug Tamoxifen. It’s a single pill I have to take on a daily basis to reduce the chances of cancer recurrence, and I deal by looking at it as an excuse to hydrate before getting out of bed every morning. Drink a bunch of water and, oh, slip that pill in there too.
I wish I didn’t even have to take the Tamoxifen. But it is what it is. I’m looking forward to the day when I can be completely pill-free, and trying to appreciate that after everything I’ve been through, there’s only one medication left.